A Crown of Lilies

by Melissa Ragland

Excitement flooded us, both at our fortunate timing, and the actualization of months of planning. We celebrated with a cup of wine in the student quarter, a collection of apartments and businesses catering to the university and its attendees. Quintin sat and looked bored as we drank a toast. Conscious of our newness to the city, we made sure to return to the house well before dark. Lyra made supper while we chatted at the table. It was a quiet ending to a stimulating day, and I collapsed gladly into my lumpy bed.

  The next dawn came, and I dressed in my freshly laundered sparring gear, unsure of what the day might hold. As promised, my golden-haired commander had found a solution to our problem.

  “We’ll go to the gymnasium.”

  I balked. The bath and its accompanying recreation arena were strictly for men. I crossed my arms. “And how do you expect us to do that?”

  “You passed for a man at the garrison,” he pointed out.

  “I was sixteen and a bit less…” I gestured at my body, which had filled out substantially since then. My breasts were still small enough to hide if I bound them, but the boyish leanness of my hips and waist had been replaced by unmistakable curves.

  The barest tinge of pink flushed his cheeks, which surprised me. I’d said much coarser things in his presence. “Just do your best,” he growled, turning for the door. “They won’t be looking for a woman.”

  My chest was already bound, as I always did for our morning exercises, and my hair pulled back into a simple club. There was little else I could do. I hoped for both our sakes that my breeches and tunic would do the rest.

  We made our way down the street, pausing outside the double entrance. The baths and gymnasium were housed in a single massive structure with two thresholds side by side. I followed Quintin through the left-hand door, keeping my eyes down. A few men milling around the entrance glanced at us curiously but said nothing. Once inside, I dared to look around. In the early morning, the place was all but deserted, a generous number of torches and braziers lighting the cavernous chamber. Under the high roof sprawled a massive sand arena with various sporting accoutrements I couldn’t identify. Racks of practice weapons lined the walls, including many I’d never seen before. A few clusters of men engaged in wrestling matches, and I flushed when I realized they were naked as their name day, sand coating their sweaty skin as they grappled. Others worked fully armored with various weaponry.

  “I don’t think I can do this,” I whispered miserably to Quintin as he posted up in an open spot far from anyone else.

  “Eyes on me. You’ll be fine.”

  It was easier than I had expected, to focus on him and forget everyone around us. We worked through various drills, including our latest deflection drill with the Freyjan shield, which combined all the others into a single flowing circuit. Inside the windowless gymnasium, it was impossible to tell how much time had passed. Once more men began to trickle in through the doorway, Quintin called an end to our practice and we made a discreet exit.

  “And no one noticed?” Aubrey pressed at the breakfast table.

  I shrugged. “If they did, no one said anything.”

  “No one noticed.” Quintin reinforced with certainty. “People see what they expect to see. Besides,” he added, eyeing me. “You move like a man.” Aubrey snorted into his juice.

  “I’ll choose to take that as a compliment,” I retorted dryly.

  He failed to completely conceal his grin, and I could tell he was in good spirits because his idea had worked. I could only hope it continued to do so.

  The following months were filled largely with routine. Oh, we found adventures enough, but between the gymnasium and the university, much of our time was already claimed. I found the lectures to be of mixed quality. Some professors droned on relentlessly, and I was hard-pressed to keep my eyes open. Others had a way with words, and I found I quite enjoyed learning about the history of Elas and its culture. Aubrey soaked it all in with the mind of a great scholar.

  In our free time, we explored Atenas, a city full of artists and entertainers. Every corner hosted a cluster of actors or puppeteers, musicians or singers. Occasionally, we came across a pauper philosopher lecturing from atop an empty wine barrel. Aubrey enjoyed those the most and often stopped to listen or ask questions.

  We made a few acquaintances, of course. We were not the only Alesians studying at the university. A trio of young men out of Briare became regular companions at the local wine shops. They were in their second and third years of study, focusing on the ancient engineering marvels of Elas. On one such rambunctious outing, we crossed paths with a pair of siblings from Ulta, studying theater. They reminded me of the Ardontus twins, Ero and Ila. When I said as much to them, their eyes glistened and they bought me another cup. It was, I learned, a great compliment to the scions of Oristei. There were others, of course. Local merchants’ sons and daughters, studying at the university, found us amusing and exotic. Our retinue changed almost nightly.

  When the summer solstice approached, we were informed of a great celebration atop the temple mount at the heart of the city. The Elan religion, I had learned, mirrored our own quite similarly. They, too, marked the cycles of the year, though they had specific gods to accompany each holiday. In truth, they had gods for nearly everything. I couldn’t keep them all straight. Some of our local companions insisted we attend, and so we went.

  It was truly a spectacle to behold. We climbed the countless marble steps alongside beggars and merchants, porters and priests. Along the way, acolytes offered water and rest to those who needed it. The sun was setting over the city when we finally reached the complex at the peak of the mount, a massive central temple flanked by smaller ones, all open to the air and built entirely from glistening white marble. Above the columns, ornately carved panels depicted various myths and gods. Fires blazed in giant metal braziers. Drums and flutes and timbales rang merry tunes into the night. Blue-robed priests and priestesses knelt before laden altars, calling prayers to the heavens. Acolytes threw handfuls of flower petals into the air as they meandered through the crowd, anklets of bells chiming.

  The festivity continued through the night, filled with music, dance, and theater. Groups of players donned fantastic costumes and reenacted great scenes from Elan myth, elder priests narrating in booming voices. Each time I thought to depart, our companions insisted we stay. It’s almost time, they said. When will you be here again? So we stayed, Quintin stifling yawns as Aubrey and I frolicked with strangers and offered polite prayers to foreign gods. And oh, was it worth it.

  The sky began to lighten and a hush fell over the masses as a priest emerged from deep within the great temple, an elaborate golden mask on his face. He raised a white staff capped with a golden starburst, and the crowd turned in unison toward the east. Hopeful eyes watched, fixated. I’d never heard so many people fall so utterly silent. We held our collective breath as the tip of the sun breached the horizon, peeking its golden head over the sea. A thunderous cheer erupted around us and the celebration began anew. Music rang out, acolytes emptied their petal baskets into the air, folk hugged and shouted prayers of thanks to the sky.

  But these were not my gods.

  I couldn’t tear my eyes from that sight, the sun’s first light scattering like diamonds across the waves. My heart hurt as I thought of Adrian. I fretted for him. I wondered where he was, if he was safe, if he thought about me. Mother preserve me, I missed him.

  “Come on,” Aubrey’s voice murmured gently at my ear, brown eyes reading me like an open page. He slipped his arm into mine. “Let’s go.”

  When we made it back to the house, the morning sun hung well overhead. Aubrey begged off and disappeared into his room. I envied him, knowing rest was not in my near future. I turned toward Quintin to find him watching me with a strange expression.

  “Just let me change, and I’ll be right down.” I started up the steps, digging deep to find my last reserves of energy.

  “No.” His voice stopped me in my tracks halfway up the sta
ircase. He was still watching me. “Just get some rest.”

  I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right, but he had already vanished down the hall. I decided to trust my ears, no matter how unlikely, and collapsed gratefully into my bed. We all slept well into midday.

  Only a few weeks later, we were sitting in one of our favorite wine shops when the real world came creeping back into our lives. A few students from Makednos had joined us after the day’s lectures. They had received word from home, and the news was grim. The Sultan was dead, along with his entire family.

  “What happened to them?” I asked carefully.

  “Persica happened,” he grumbled and spat on the floor.

  His companion shook his head. “First Ulgar, and now this. They mean to claim the whole of the Mare Nox for themselves.”

  “Rumor has it they’ve already pushed into Dacia.”

  “An army?” Quintin pressed, brows knit with concern.

  The first man shook his head. “No. Well, yes. But it’s the priests who come first. The army follows later.”

  Aubrey knit his brow in confusion. “How does an entire nation fall to a few priests?”

  Our companion’s dark face twisted with distaste. “Ask the Sultan.”

  In the late fall, we received Lord Augustus’ letter only a few days before he himself arrived at our doorstep. My blood ran cold when he pushed through the entryway into our small common room. Fear. It was all over his face, poorly concealed. Quintin, Aubrey, and I exchanged a worried glance. Lyra guided his porters to the room she had prepared. While they hauled his trunks in, the four of us settled into the kitchen.

  “Tell us,” Aubrey pressed him anxiously.

  “Some water, please.” He tapped his fingers on the table nervously as I rose with alacrity to retrieve it.

  “Has something happened?” For all his scholarship, my friend had no patience.

  After gulping down two glasses, Augustus collected himself. “Thank you, my dear.” I settled back into my seat. “The Queen…” he started, his voice cracking.

  Oh, gods. I felt the pit of my stomach sink into the floor.

  “The Queen is dead,” he forced out, his hands fidgeting atop the table.

  None of us spoke for a long moment.

  “How?” Aubrey whispered, finally breaking the silence.

  “The child came early. Ignatus did all he could,” his voice cracked. “But she could not be saved.”

  “And the babe?”

  “He lives.”

  He.

  “And the King?” I breathed.

  He turned to me, his agonized face telling me more than any words could. “Lost in his grief.”

  We sat silently as the weight of the news settled over us. Such immense sorrow, I could not even begin to fathom. To have loved Selice’s mother and lost her, to have finally found someone who could mend his wounded heart, only to have her torn from him as well…the depth of such anguish was beyond my ken. My mind flicked a spark to the fore.

  “What about the delegation, the one from Persica?” I pressed, my voice raw with emotion.

  “You are your mother’s daughter,” he said softly. “They arrived three weeks after you left. There was some disagreement over who should preside over the Queen’s delivery. Apparently, one among the delegation is a renowned physician in their country. Ignatus won out, of course, but I’m afraid with the way things ended up….”

  “Are they still in Litheria?” I pressed him.

  He nodded. “Caerus House has been banished from Court. Amenon has locked himself in his quarters. He refuses to see anyone, not even the babe. Rumor has it, he allows one man and one man alone into his presence.”

  “From the delegation?”

  “A priest of their brutish faith.”

  I knew little of Persica. So far from our borders, I had never bothered to study the nation or its religion. Making a mental note to rectify that oversight, I pressed on. “What about my parents? What about you?”

  He shook his head. “When I left, Damien had still not broken through to him. I called at the castle daily myself, to no avail.”

  I sorely wished I could speak with my mother. “Should we return home?” I asked. My voice sounded small and childish to my own ears.

  His eyes glinted kindly as he favored me with an affectionate smile. “You may be like a daughter to me, Elivya, but I am not the one to decide that for you.” He drew a travel-worn letter from his breast pocket and passed it to me. “Your parents sent me with this.”

  I cracked the seal and scanned it quickly. My mother’s elegant hand flowed across the page. My heart ached as I read the words, her voice echoing in my head. Adrian wasn’t the only one I missed.

  “Well?” Aubrey pressed after a moment.

  I looked up at him, folding the letter. “They want us to stay put for now. There is too much uncertainty back home, and quite frankly, nothing our presence could do about it.”

  Augustus nodded. He already knew what the letter contained. “As of yet, there is no immediate danger, but it is safer for you here.”

  “And you?” his son asked him.

  “Officially, I am here consulting the renowned Elan poets for a tribute to our late queen.”

  “Unofficially?”

  “I am here to keep an eye on the lot of you through the winter.” He paused. “And to give Damien room to maneuver.”

  Aubrey looked confused, but I understood. One trusted friend could reach out to you in your grief, and you might be willing to accept. But two, and the offer of comfort was quickly received as pressure - as a threat, violently rebuked.

  “Your parents will send news with the first ships in the spring. Then we will decide whether to return to Alesia.”

  We talked late into the evening, pulling every last detail from Augustus. I found myself frustrated by how little he knew of the situation. His ignorance was largely my mother’s design, most likely. While a loyal friend and good man, Augustus had no head for intrigue. Letting slip some scrap of clandestine knowledge in the wrong company could put sources at risk.

  I slept poorly, and as a result, was sloppy and distracted the next morning. Quintin whacked me smartly on the shoulder with the flat of his practice sword when I missed a block.

  “What the hell!” I cried angrily, my voice echoing into the vast gymnasium. It drew a few looks, and I immediately bit my tongue.

  He pointed the weapon at me. “You’re not focusing.”

  “How can you?” I snarled at him, rubbing my shoulder.

  “Fretting over what you can’t control does nothing but weaken you. Stay here.” He gestured to my head. “And here,” he repeated, pointing at the sand beneath our feet. “Again.”

  I made a concerted effort to push my worries from my mind and focus on my training. For his part, Quintin pressed me relentlessly, not giving me time to wander. Lord Augustus was visibly taken aback at my sweaty, disheveled appearance when we rejoined the rest of the household for breakfast. I tried not to take offense at his stares and focused on my food.

  Though the house was significantly more modest than he was used to, he didn’t press the matter when we refused his offer to relocate to more lavish accommodations. We had grown fond of our short-tempered Lyra, and the addition of Augustus’ two manservants was an unaccountable luxury in itself. I no longer had to draw my own baths. Many of the more physically demanding aspects of upkeep were addressed, including replacing some clapboards and rehanging some shutters on the exterior of the house. Before the worst of the cold settled in on Atenas, our modest dwelling was in fine fettle.

  Winter dragged on, dull and damp. There were no more plays, the open-air theaters too miserably frigid to sit in for any length of time. Lectures, too, became a chore. No longer could we gather in parks or squares to debate in the glorious midday sun. Instead, we crowded into halls within the confines of the university, lit with braziers that barely kept the chill away. The great stone structure seeped the cold into every dark
space, and even Aubrey couldn’t bear to expose his hands and scribble notes in his journals.

  As usual, it didn’t faze Quintin. My teeth chattered and I huddled close to my friend on the wooden benches in the lecture halls. Our steely chaperone sat behind us, wrapped in his same wool cloak, unaffected.

  The wine shops were kept blessedly well-heated, both by roaring hearths and a multitude of patrons’ bodies. It seemed to be the only form of recreation in the winter. Well, that and one other. Among certain company, the act of love was considered a sacred and celebratory thing, to be shared freely. We were invited to one such event during the midst of the winter. Aubrey looked tempted, but I quickly declined for the three of us. That was not the kind of gossip we needed to follow us home.

  Aside from warmth and lewd invitations, our time in the wine shops also kept us informed with what little news made its way to Atenas overland. Makednos had been folded into the Persican empire, and Dacia was expected to follow within the year. As a strange country with no central ruler, the reports out of Dacia were fragmented at best. In lieu of a unified society, the nation consisted of a collection of nomadic tribes, each with their own leader. Thought the clan chiefs met annually to maintain some semblance of peace, all attempts at alliance had failed, and the Persican army was picking them off one tribe at a time. Those who refused to submit were slaughtered.

  Whispers from home of a great winter sickness trickled in, though not enough to affirm the truth or the scope of it.

  After long months, the worst of winter passed and the days began to warm once again. News came more frequently, though none of it good. Lord Augustus spent much time at the Senate, the ruling body of Elas, housed in a vast marble complex at the heart of the city. One hundred men made up the chorus of politicians, led by a single Imperator who had no voting rights unless the main body found itself at a stalemate. I was told such a thing never happened. Instead, the Imperator maintained order among the rabble of wealthy merchants and guild leaders. It all sounded ridiculously chaotic to me. Nevertheless, Augustus made regular trips to the Senate while we were away at lectures for the day. He was a skilled orator, but despite his best efforts, he made no headway. Elas would not go out of its way to contest Persica.